


Freak

by Chemical_Defect



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, But eventually it ends well, Eventually after three chapters, Feelings, Fugue, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mention of Beating, Mild Language, Sherlock is hurting, but I swear it ends well, caring is not an advantage, john is mean, mention of past drug use, some more angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical_Defect/pseuds/Chemical_Defect
Summary: John is mean to Sherlock.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shag_me_senseless_watson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shag_me_senseless_watson/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Freak](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/294900) by shag-me-senseless-watson. 



> I've come across a ficlet on Tumblr and I couldn't let it rest. It was way too sad for my heart to handle. So I'm fixing it.  
> The first chapter is the aforementioned ficlet, by @shag-me-senseless-watson on Tumblr; chapters 2, 3 and 4 are my attempt at fixing what made me sad.
> 
> Kudos to shag-me-senseless-watson for writing the beautiful piece in the first place. Broke my heart, but beautifully written. Go read it. Now.  
> ...Please?
> 
> http://shag-me-senseless-watson.tumblr.com/post/161163591405/freak

 

‘That was completely out of line, Sherlock!’ John yelled. Sherlock had felt the tension from the moment he deduced at the crime scene and all the way home. He had had a bad day so his deductions were rather scathing. He’s thrown insult after insult at everyone and, mistakenly, at John. He hadn’t meant to, but he was just  _ there _ .

‘John, I -’

‘No, Sherlock! You’re done talking. What you said to everyone - to me - no. I don’t have to take this shit anymore.’

‘Anymore?’

‘Yes, Sherlock. I’m leaving.’

‘Come now, John, I’m so-’

‘No you’re not. When are you ever sorry for anything?’

Sherlock flinched as if slapped. ‘John…’

In the heat of his rage, John turned from facing the kitchen and shoved Sherlock to the ground. Sherlock looked up at John, fear evident in his eyes.

‘John, please -’

‘I said you’re done talking, dammit!’ John hissed.

Sherlock looked away, refusing to let his tears fall. John is leaving. John is leaving him. John is leaving  _ because of  _ him.

‘Please stay,’ Sherlock whispered. ‘I - I need you.’

‘They’re right, you know,’ John mumbled. ‘I always tried to defend you when they talked, but they’re right. You’re nothing but a -’

‘Freak,’ Sherlock’s voice croaked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

The one thing he always loved John for is that he never found him to be anything other than extraordinary. But now...Now, it hurts.

‘I’m going to pack my things, and I’m leaving. For good. I just - I can’t take this anymore, Sherlock. Don’t come looking for me, don’t tell Mycroft to do surveillance, just don’t try to contact me. I’ve had enough.’

John trudged upstairs, leaving Sherlock to sob on the living room floor. He’d really done it now. He’d messed up the only good thing in his life, and now he could never get it back.

Sherlock wiped his face and brought his hand to his left trouser pocket, pulling out a black box. He stared at it for a while until he couldn’t anymore and threw it across the room. He wrapped his arms around himself and let the tears fall freely. At the sound of the front door slamming shut, he lay down and curled down into a foetal position as he silently cried out his sorrows.

 

John was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed and resonated. The strength of it was such that anyone would expect the weather to be accordingly violent - but the sun was shining and the air cool. Nevertheless, John was boiling inside. How dare he? He’d always been there for him, always. Save for that year and a half after he’d come back, but it was never obvious at the time that he suffered.  Their history at that time had not been particularly smooth. The fear he’d seen in Sherlock’s eyes, he wished -  _ He brought it on himself! I’ve soldiered on, for him. I carried on living with him, despite his belittling me. And drowning it in...affection. If that’s not emotional manipulation, I’ll eat his stupid hat. _

If he were honest with himself, John would admit that the main reason he’d been so cruel and left Sherlock was because of a tension that he did not know how to get rid of, afraid that this pent up rage would turn into heated, blinding wrath of the same kind that made him beat Sherlock down when he was down. That fear in his eyes, it had reminded him so much of that moment - even if at the time all he could see was pain and heartbreak in his blue eyes  _ with a hint of red after you’d broken a blood vessel or two _ . John had left in time apparently. The control he had on his anger had started to crumble and he had lashed out at Sherlock. 

Emotions hurling inside him, he continued walking in a brisk pace, hurrying on to somewhere quiet and empty. His first instinct was to get to St. Bart’s, however given his current state of mind it was probably not a good idea. Nor would a cemetery fit. He quickly turned back, taking the direction of the park. Although it was sunny and most Londoners would be out, trying to catch as much sun as they could, Regent’s Park was still of a decent size. He was bound to find some isolated place where he could...get his emotions under control again.

 

_ Leave me the hell alone and go be a good big brother.  _

 

The black car that was tailing him in the distance changed direction and turned back.  _ Good. Message received.  _

 

He sat down in the grass, cross-legged, avoiding people as much as possible. He would love to say that Sherlock had rubbed off on him on that score, but the truth was that he had not really been much for social interactions before meeting Sherlock. Of course he liked them - when they were planned and wanted. Surprise social interactions were not his cup of tea, even more so since he’d come back from Afghanistan. 

He chose to sit down near the Triton Fountain, but not too close to it - with that nice weather, children and boisterous people were sure to be about. He liked children, but at the moment what he needed was quiet. Walking with a purpose in mind, focussing on breathing had helped abating his anger a little, but he was still furiously angry. Angry at himself for not seeing that Sherlock was having a bad day, for letting him get caught up in his feelings -  _ Wait a minute, Sherlock is not a child! ‘No, dear _ ,’ replied a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mrs. Hudson’s, ‘ _ but he  _ _ is _ _ your partner.’  _ John sighed. He was angry, and he was not even sure to have a valid reason to be. 

He was angry at himself for losing control. Once again. He had avoided unleashing the beast inside but...it had been close. Too close. At some point he and Sherlock would have to talk about it, he knew that. Or write to each other about it. Yes, that seemed safer. 

He would have to  _ tell _ Sherlock that he  _ was _ coming back, though. He shouldn’t let him hurt - and knew now how intensely Sherlock was feeling. But he couldn’t come back. Not in the immediate future. Why was Sherlock having such a bad day, anyway? Out of habit he pocketed his phone. 18th May.

_ Ah. That explains it.  _

 

_ Sherlock. I won’t be back for a couple of days. But I WILL come back. You know I will. I need to sort a few things out. Don’t hurt so much, I can feel you from here. - JW. _

 

He didn’t expect an answer, as he remembered all too vividly how Sherlock laid on the floor, how he had been then and how he had been not an hour before, the position all too similar. John knew Sherlock was in shock, and Sherlock in shock was more or less synonymous with listless, near catatonic. 

 

_ Do hurry in dealing with your crisis. Need I remind you that despite my position in the British government being minor, I am needed for other tasks than monitoring my brother and ensuring he does not answer the siren call of old habits. - MH. _

 

John’s blood ran cold. Sherlock was hurting that badly.  _ He  _ had hurt Sherlock so much that his all-knowing brother strongly suspected... His anger management issues had always been a problem, and most of the time he kept them in check - or got rid of his raging energy in wild chases around London. 

 

_ I’m sorry I have been cruel. Everything I said, that was a lie. You know that _ .  _ My...emotions got the better of me. I’m sorry. I AM coming back. - JW. _


	3. Chapter 3

When he read Mycroft’s words, John was frozen. His anguish over Sherlock’s well-being, however, brought him on the move. He backtracked to Baker Street. His introspection would have to wait. Sherlock’s health, mental as well as physical, was all that mattered.

If his blood had been pumping through his veins with fury when he walked briskly to the park, it was still boiling when he walked back to Sherlock, but out of profound anxiety rather than wrath.

He tried several times hailing a cab, to no avail. Cursing through his teeth, he continued, hurrying, on his way. Why are there so many people leisurely walking on the pavement? Can’t they go to a park or something? The look of anguish, terror and anger on his face had people move out of his way without him ever having to say anything. Captain John Watson was walking the streets of London. Contrary to what Mycroft had told him all those years ago, doing so with Sherlock Holmes didn’t make them a battlefield. In that moment, the very absence of Sherlock at his side made these streets the most dangerous, gruesome and bloody battlefield John had ever been on.  
All his thoughts were focussed on Sherlock with more intensity than usually. Guilt was the most prominent feeling he was experiencing at the moment. He knew Sherlock had not had the opportunity of doing anything...rash, but there was still the nagging voice at the back of his head whispering that he might have had something hidden, probably in plain sight since he sees but does not observe. And therefore, in that case, it was very much possible he had done something a lot more than just a bit not good. It was Sherlock. Sherlock who had had...dealings with unsavory recreational activities, and John was quite obviously very much worried that the voice at the back of his head might be right. He trusted in Sherlock, of course he did. But God knows what Sherlock was capable of when completely overwhelmed by negative emotions. Worthlessness. Induced by him, by the one person who had always stood by him. Shame, guilt, self-reproach were far from being strong enough words to describe what John was feeling over the way he had treated Sherlock.  
His heart was pounding in his chest as he arrived in front of 221b. The door he had slammed not two hours ago was still tightly shut and, despite not being observant, he immediately saw the results of that action. Here and there some bits of the door had splintered away. He had not realised what force he had used and could only dread the state Sherlock was in.  
As soon as he opened the door, Mrs. Hudson appeared with a stern look on her face, ready to give him a lecture on breaking property and how she would put the costs to repair the door on the rent. As she saw how livid and sweaty he was, anguish written all over his features, she retreated into her own flat. There were more important things than material aspects of life.  
John took a few deep breaths so as to calm himself before he strode up the stairs. He found Sherlock exactly where he had left him, in an even more heartbreaking position - curled up in on himself, like a battered animal whose only defence was broken down and unlikely to be put up again. Sherlock’s back was to the door, and he hadn’t heard that someone had come into his flat. He had not recognised John’s thread on the stairs. He had not moved an inch when John had entered. He was entirely hidden away, deep inside his Mind Palace.  
John crouched beside Sherlock, tentatively put a hand on his side and whispered a soft ‘Hey.’ It didn’t elicit any kind of reaction from Sherlock. He repeated what he had just done more insistently, his voice no longer a whisper but still with a soft edge to it. Sherlock’s only reaction was to curl up in on himself even more, as if he were trying to disappear into himself. ‘Hey, Sherlock. I’m there. Come back. Please. For me. Come back,’ he said as he curled around the detective. He felt him shivering as if outside in winter, and brought his lips to Sherlock’s nape. The shivers subsided but his body was shaken with violent sobbing. John took Sherlock’s hands in his and brought him as much reassurance and protection as he could, his heart breaking at the sight of the utter mess he had made of such a brilliant man. He rose his head just enough to bring his mouth to Sherlock’s ear. ‘I am staying. Sherlock. Of course I am staying. I could never leave you. I adore you. You are amazing, brilliant, beautiful, brave, enigmatic, magnificent, resourceful, selfless, stubborn - oh the list goes on. You piss me off, Sherlock, as much as I piss you off. I’ll be damned if I ever left you behind. I cannot live without you. I’m just an empty shell. You know I am. Judging by your state right now, you would be, too. Sherlock, please. Say something. Hold my hand back. I’m so sorry, my love, for what I’ve put you through. I’m so sorry. I - I lost my temper, I knew I was going to lose my temper and not by only a fraction. I’ve shoved you to the ground. I knew - I saw it all happening again. The fear in your eyes, I - I couldn’t - wouldn’t do that to you again. I had to leave. I’m so sorry, my love,’ he continued, cradling Sherlock, holding him tight, ‘I’m sorry I said such cruel things, I never meant them, there’s no excuse for what I said, Sherlock, please, I’m sorry, come back, I’m sorry.’ John kept uttering a litany of _I’m so sorry_ ’s and ‘please, _come back_ ’s, holding the detective close, nose buried in his neck, inhaling his smell, a mix of sweat and tears, taking as deep, calming breaths as he could, making it as obvious as he could to reassure Sherlock, to bring him back to him, so that Sherlock could feel John was holding him and so he could hold him back.


	4. Chapter 4

They kept - or rather, John did - embracing long enough for Mrs. Hudson to go up the stairs as discreetly as she could - which to a soldier attuned to danger was anything but - for both their phones had rung and vibrated, presumably from their shared friends, several times. All attempts to communicate with them had gone ignored, as John simply refused to have the smallest contact with anyone as long as Sherlock had not come to.

When he finally resurfaced, he found himself engulfed in a tight embrace, a blanket thrown over them - courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, most likely - and utterly paralysed. He realised he had lain there on the hard floor for hours. He was sore all over, but his mind was in a worse state than his body. He was numb and felt empty. He did not yet understand how, or why John - he did recognise his smaller frame, smell, everything about him. Not to mention that no one else had ever held him like that...it wasn’t a difficult leap - was there, holding him.

He attempted to move without making it so obvious that John would notice - but he did. Of course he did.

‘Sherlock.’ The relief in John’s voice was evident, if the tightened hold he had on him was not indication enough. ’I’m there. Not leaving. I’m so, sorry, my love.’

‘John?’

So many emotions transpired in that monosyllabic question that John had no idea where to begin to answer. He loosened his grip on Sherlock, brought his hands to his shoulders, turned him around so they would be face to face. He did not do anything until the spark in Sherlock’s eyes was back, if somewhat clouded by the inner turmoil he had faced for such horrid hours. He let the detective look at him, detailing every crease of his face, reading everything John knew he could thanks to his marvellous ability, never shying away from Sherlock’s questioning eyes.

‘You’re...staying?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am, Sherlock. Of course I am,’ he answered, a smile spreading on his lips.

‘Wha - What you said, John, ho - ?’

‘I’m so sorry, Sherlock. I...I’ve told you all that earlier, but I’ll say it again, now that I know that you can hear me. That you can read me. That you can be certain I am not lying. Look at me, Sherlock. I am not leaving. You are my whole world. I cannot live, and absolutely not appreciate life without you. I hurt you. I - I do not want to do that to you, ever again. I had to leave. I - When anger takes over like that, it is … blinding. I can’t think.’

‘But, you nev-’

‘Yes, I did. I do. All the time. There is one...striking occurrence that you remember. All the other times happened when we were chasing down criminals through London. I had something to focus my anger on. I don’t want it to be you. Ever. I love you too much to hurt you. Sherlock. The life we have together is the only life worth living. Before I knew you, I was just going through the motions. After you’d gone, it was not even that. Then Mary happened and I was going through the motions again. Not living. Just…’

‘Staying.’

‘Yes. And then you came back. It was exhilarating, as if I had been holding my breath all that time and then got it back. And Mary died. I grieved again. But I couldn’t let you come near me. I had pretty big issues in managing my anger. I had to bring them under control. And then you...It was magnificent. Sherlock, I love you too much to ever let it stop. So, no, my love. I am not leaving you,’ he concluded as he embraced his detective, after he placed a soft, chaste kiss upon his lips. Sherlock returned the embrace, but had every difficulty processing everything John had told him. There were so many emotions, navigating through them all was...difficult. He knew he would manage it, eventually, but not being able to understand right away was frustrating.

John was still thinking about what he had just told Sherlock. He could _hear_ him think. He knew his eyes were open, and he remembered having thrown something in the area John must be looking at. The light was low as dusk was starting to settle in. Perhaps John hadn’t seen it. He was sure he hadn’t, until he felt John stiffen for a few seconds and melt back into their shared embrace.

‘I think it would be a good idea to move somewhere more comfortable than the floor,’ John said eventually.

‘I agree. Sofa?’

‘Yes.’

‘Stay with me while I make tea?’

‘Always, Sherlock.’


End file.
